


To Be Touched

by idareu2bme



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Do not post to another site, I Wrote This For Me, M/M, Pining, Pining Crowley, and yet i am horrible and didnt give him any cuddles, asexual crowley just needs cuddles, aziraphale you scamp, but you can read it if you want, melancholy crowley, so much pining, sorry - Freeform, unbetaed, you probably wont like it though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 09:25:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,976
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19742821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idareu2bme/pseuds/idareu2bme
Summary: Sometimes the need to be touched would come on so strong that Crowley's hands would practically shake with the intensity of it. Sometimes his throat would feel like it may close up with how he ached for that closeness from Aziraphale.





	To Be Touched

Crowley stepped out of the rain into the poorly lit bookshop and, because no one was looking, took a deep breath to enjoy the comfortingly familiar smell of dusty old books. Cluttered book shops filled with rows of shelves stuffed with books weren't exactly Crowley's first choice in haunts. However, this particular bookshop was owned, operated, and inhabited by a rather special person; an angel named Aziraphale, Crowley’s oldest and only friend.

Unfortunately, there was a strange phenomena surrounding the angel named Aziraphale. It seemed that there was something about his aura, his general presence, that beckoned to Crowley. Not in the way a kindred spirit might beckon to another upon first meeting, though there was definitely that as well. No, there was more to it than that.

Since the beginning, as far back as The Garden itself, Crowley had felt an unmistakable pull toward the angel whenever Aziraphale was even remotely near. If the angel was in the area, Crowley would feel it and would instantly seek him out. Over the years, it became something of a habit for them to run into each other from time to time. Crowley hoped Aziraphale thought it was accidental because, from his end, it was always on purpose. He had this unexplained desire to be close to the angel.

Most of the time, Crowley's desire could be fulfilled simply by sitting in the angel’s presence --which was what had brought him to the bookshop that day. See, once they were finally on amicable terms, his need to be near Aziraphale had become much easier to deal with. When it came upon him, he could simply seek him out and ask him for lunch or drinks instead of orchestrating an accidental meeting. And then it would only take a few hours of sitting across from Aziraphale, watching him enjoy his meal and listening to him talk about whatever flitted across his mind, for Crowley to feel himself again. 

That familiar voice drifted to his ears, just then, from further in the book shop. Crowley followed it, moth to flame.

Over the years, the frequency with which the need came upon him had increased exponentially. It seemed as though prolonged exposure to said angel’s presence had created an addiction of sorts. Crowley could only go so long before he would need another hit. Such a thing might be alarming, but, in the end, Crowley decided spending time with Aziraphale wasn’t such a terrible thing to be addicted to, so he mostly didn’t think about it.

He walked down a few rows of bookshelves, passed one of the worn, old chairs also piled with books, and came around a corner. There stood Aziraphale speaking politely to some random human who had dared enter the shop. They were holding a leather-bound book that looked quite old . Likely, he was trying to talk them out of purchasing one of his beloved books. He looked up at Crowley’s approach and the wrinkles in his forehead and downward turn of his mouth both cleared immediately.

“Ah, Crowley, dear,” said Aziraphale, face brightening with a dazzling smile that nearly had Crowley bracing himself on the pillar beside him. “So nice to see you.”

The customer’s grip on the book must have loosened just enough with Crowley’s surprise appearance because Aziraphale was quick to pull it from their hands while giving them a quick and much falser smile. Crowley puffed up a touch at that because almost all of Aziraphale’s real smiles were for him these days. Yes, he knew it probably meant something, but he really had no idea what to do about it.

Aziraphale breezed past him, probably to put the book away, and their shoulders brushed for the briefest of seconds. Crowley shivered. 

“I’m sorry, love,” spoke Aziraphale over his shoulder as he went. “Was I late to meet you for lunch, again? I hope you didn’t wait there long.”

Crowley furrowed his brow. He decided, for his sanity’s sake, not to think too long on the pet name and, instead, wondered at the last bit. They didn’t have a lunch appointment and Aziraphale was never late for anything involving fine food. Then he caught the lost look on the would-be customer’s face and smirked. Ah, of course, he was to be the getaway. 

“Think nothing of it, Angel,” said Crowley after clearing his throat. He turned on his heel and followed after him. 

The human followed at a much slower pace, obviously taken aback at the sudden change. Crowley saw them out of the corner of his eye as he stepped close to Aziraphale who was, indeed, reshelving the book one aisle over.

“But we should get a move on if we want to keep that reservation,” added Crowley, glancing back at the human who was standing in the middle of the store looking unsure.

Aziraphale turned to Crowley, eyes sparkling delightfully with mischief and it felt like a blow to the sternum. Crowley made a strange, involuntary sound and took a small step backward. The angel’s smile dimmed for a second and he reached out to put a steadying hand on Crowley’s bicep. That most certainly didn’t help. Crowley sucked in a deep breath and managed a wobbly grimace-smile.

You see, there were times when Crowley's desire to be close to Aziraphale came out more as a burning, itching need to be _touched_ by the angel. 

This desire was much trickier to deal with, much more difficult to disguise with indifference, and next to impossible to fulfill on purpose. And while Crowley could recognize how strange it was to crave something that he’d really never actually fully experienced, there was no denying the need. 

“I’m so very sorry,” said Aziraphale as he pulled his hand away from Crowley and stepped past him to regard the human. “But I need to close up the shop for a bit. Lunch date.”

Crowley closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath once Aziraphale was out of his personal space. He needed to calm down if he was going to make it through an entire visit with the angel. 

Sometimes the need to be touched would come on so strong that Crowley's hands would practically shake with the intensity of it. Sometimes his throat would feel like it may close up with how he ached for that closeness from Aziraphale. Blessedly, the need to be touched would come on much less often than the need to simply be near. Unfortunately, just like the need to be near, it's frequency seemed to be growing exponentially, whether or not it was ever assuaged.

Whenever that need for touch hit, Crowley would have to try to steal little touches in order to get through it --but he needed to be calm in order to get away with it. Sometimes he would sit a little too close to Aziraphale on their park bench in hopes that they might accidentally brush against each other. Sometimes, when they walked together, he would purposely step into Aziraphale's space with the hope that Aziraphale would accidentally bump into him. Whenever they sat across from each other, Crowley would leisurely sink down in his chair and stretch out his legs hoping their knees might accidentally knock together. These were all ways that Crowley might alleviate the itch, but they were like a single droplet of water in a dry desert. 

It was a bit better when he had the opportunity to pass something to Aziraphale. His unnecessary heart would speed up every time the prospect arose. Crowley would open his hand wide around the object as he passed it knowing that Aziraphale would have no choice but to allow their hands to brush together. Or, if he was accepting something being passed to him, he’d fumble a touch for it with his fingers, ensuring they hands met. Those two moves almost always gave Crowley the sort of results he so hungrily needed. He'd even gotten quite good at schooling his face not to react to the satisfying jolt that shot up his arm and through his gut every time.

Of course, even that was never quite enough. Some days Crowley would feel close to tears with how ‘not enough’ any of it was. Some days he would have to leave the presence he so craved because his skin felt like it might melt from his body if his angel wouldn’t reach those last few inches between them and just put his blessed hands on him.

But how could Crowley ever ask him for such a thing? And how devastating would it be if he finally managed to push the request out from behind sharp teeth only to have Aziraphale say no?

And so Crowley would burn in silence finding only the shortest relief in those stolen touches played off as accidents, addicted as he was to being in the presence of Aziraphale. But, he would tell himself that it wasn’t like he was unaccustomed to burning, being a fallen angel and all. It was just par the course for an unforgiven one. 

The ding of the bell above the book shop’s front door pulled Crowley from his melancholy thoughts. He stepped out of the aisle to see Aziraphale turning the sign in the window from ‘Open’ to ‘Closed’, the unwelcome customer obviously having just left.

“Finally,” breathed the angel before turning around and giving Crowley another smile. “I truly thought for a minute there that I would be forced to give up my first edition of-- Crowley, are you quite alright?”

“Mrrrm?” hummed Crowley.

“You looked a touch peaky for a moment back there,” said Aziraphale. “And now you have a look on your face.”

“No, no, I’m fine,” said Crowley. “So, are we actually going to go for lunch, then?”

“Oh, well,” said Aziraphale perking considerably. Crowley loved how his eyes widened with enthusiasm over the smallest things. “I would never say no to lunch. Let me grab my coat.”

Crowley smiled fondly to himself as Aziraphale hurried to the back of the shop. His breath caught in his throat when the angel unexpectedly squeezed his elbow as he walked past.

“I don’t have reservations anywhere,” called Crowley after a moment. “Might be a bit of a wait.”

“I’m sure something with open up,” said Aziraphale from just behind him, already returning with his coat. Crowley managed not to startle, but it was a near thing. “It always does,” added Aziraphale stepping into Crowley’s space and scrunching his pert nose with another of his many different smiles.

Crowley felt light-headed. Aziraphale was always pleasantly smiley, but this was a bit more.

“Right,” he croaked. “Shall we?”

“Yes,” said Aziraphale. “Where should we go today?”

“I’ll take you anywhere you want to go,” Crowley offered weakly, the words giving him a strange rush of deja vu.

It must have been the right thing to say because Aziraphale beamed. He grabbed an umbrella from the stand near the door as the walked toward it. Crowley opened the door for him.

“Thank you, love,” the angel said, using the pet name again.

Crowley swallowed thickly. Something was definitely in the air. 

They stepped out of the building and Aziraphale opened the umbrella under the cover of the awning. He passed it to Crowley so that his hands would be free to lock up the shop. Crowley was too busy mentally flailing over the slight change in the angel’s demeanor that day to try the wide-hand, fumbly-fingers thing during the pass of the umbrella. Yet, his skin was still immediately electrified with a jolt as their fingers brushed. Aziraphale was looking at him meaningfully when Crowley looked up an him. Ah, he’d figured it out. 

“Mrrff,” said Crowley smartly. Aziraphale gave him the most idiotic of little winks before turning and locking the front door.

Well then.


End file.
